


Suffer, Spasm, Strain

by halfhardtorock



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Esca is still a slave, M/M, pain-play with whips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 05:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4423313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfhardtorock/pseuds/halfhardtorock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esca's head tilts back, his throat rolling. Everything's quiet for a moment while Marcus feels at his slave's chest for broken ribs and then Esca lets out a loud, happy laugh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suffer, Spasm, Strain

 

 

They're racing through the field, Esca ahead, his small figure _jolting_ on his horse. Marcus heels the horse to advance, teeth grit into a wild smile, close to catching up.

And then Esca's horse stops suddenly, probably a snake nearby, and Esca's thrown from her dappled back.

Marcus has a bad shock, watching his slave tumble, land with a _crunch_ on his side.

He draws tight on his reins, shouts "Ho, Esca!" and slips from his horse onto his feet.

He hears his own breath quicken as he goes to his knees, hands touching, guiding his slave over to look at him.

Esca's head tilts back, his throat rolling. Everything's quiet for a moment while Marcus feels at his slave's chest for broken ribs and then Esca lets out a loud, happy laugh. 

It surprises Marcus, to say the least.

"You're all right?" he asks, uncertain. Esca pushes up, wincing. His hair is askew on one side. He laughs again, softly, and feels at his own ribs. 

And then his expression clears, and he nods sharply, once. 

"Yeah?" Marcus asks, palming his slaves head, bracing them both for a moment, for Esca's sake. Esca nods, mouth going thin and serious again.

They walk their horses back to the villa together, through the tall grass. Once when Marcus looks at him, Esca is patting at his chest again, hand slipping low to feel along his side.

 

 

His uncle has a whip. It is said that some Romans use such instruments on their slaves. But it only hangs in the vestibulum for uncle to use on the cattle that sometime come, shaggy-faced, to peer in the house from the street.

Marcus's leg is stiff and he's sitting in the garden with it up on a stool when a cow comes moseying into the yard.

"Ah, out! Out!" Marcus shouts, waving an arm. The thing pauses by the fountain and unloads its bowels. Marcus slaps a hand over his face, calls for Esca.

He's toddering to his feet, leg locked up when Esca brings the whip.

"Dumb beast," Marcus grumbles and shakes the whip loose. He holds it and winces, tries to limp closer. "Get out!"

He cracks the whip once just as Esca steps in the way to shoo the beast. 

It leaves a small red slash to Esca's cheek. His slave flinches back, puts a hand to his face.

Marcus stares. The whip falls quiet in a long line on the packed earth.

Esca comes close on his own, until their toes touch. He's looking at Marcus, eyes narrow. His chest lifts and falls with quick breath.

Then he removes his hand, and blood pricks up, drips from his wound.

"Ahhhh," Marcus exhales. Esca touches at the cut, ends with his fingertips reddened. 

Marcus swallows, still holding the whip in hand.

Esca looks into his eyes.

"These damnable creatures! Out, out!" His uncle is yelling. Marcus's attention snaps back to the yard, and he finds uncle trying to corral the cow out of the garden. It flicks its tail, agitating a small cloud of flies.

"Marcus, bring that whip!" his uncle says, gesturing for it with his hand.

"I can't...here. Bring it to him," Marcus says quietly, passing the whip to his slave.

Esca's breath startles, and he stares at it in his own hand. He still bleeds. And then he turns, trots over to uncle.

Marcus sterns himself, limps quickly inside and to his room. Shuts the door behind him.

 

 

They're hunkered down by the river, eating biscuits. Drinking from the waters with their cupped hands. Esca is chewing when he looks at Marcus oddly, says "Would you use it on me? If I was to be punished?"

Marcus knows he means the whip. The sudden memory of that day makes his face turn hot. He frowns.

"No, not once," he says after a while, gruff.

"Hm," Esca says, and finishes his biscuit. Then he lies back, arms crossed behind his head. "Others would."

"I am not others," Marcus says grumpily, drinks from the river once more, slowly, cooling his countenance.

"If I was to be punished--" Esca begins again, voice lazy and Marcus interrupts. 

"Were you planning on being disobedient? That is unlike you."

Esca's eyes are thin slits as he turns to look at him. Marcus makes himself keep his gaze. 

"If I was to be punished, you would do it?" Esca asks.

Marcus feels the heat from his face prickle awake on the back of his neck. Draw fingers down his spine. He stiffens at the intensity of it. 

"If you needed disciplining, then I would do it. You are my slave."

Esca's eyes close. 

"But I would rather not whip you, Esca," Marcus says strictly.

Then he makes his slave rise. They are done fishing for the day. They walk back side by side, and Esca offers "It didn't hurt, when you whipped me."

Marcus's hands fist.

 

 

The second time Esca is thrown from his horse, they need uncle's help. Marcus snarls at Esca's side, face dark. "You ride too fast."

Esca's panting quickly, face in a sweat. Uncle is holding Esca's shoulder in firm hands. "Put your weight on his chest. I'll have to put it in place."

Marcus feels a strange, body-warm gratification at spreading his hands on Esca's thin chest and pinning him down to the wooden table. 

Esca's eyes are _black_ with delirium.

"This will hurt, slave," uncle says throatily, and then he puts the joint back together with a quick, jerking tug of Esca's arm.

Esca cries out, throws his head back. 

Marcus gives a low growl in response, holding his slave to the table.

"There," his uncle says, eyes full of remorse. "You should let him rest, Marcus. The pain is great, and he will tire from bearing it." Then he leaves them.

Marcus keeps his hands to Esca's chest, feels Esca's breathing underhand and the running pace of his heartbeat.

Esca looks back at him and he's bitten his lip bloody. It makes the anger lift, leaves Marcus pale with concern. He removes his hands.

"Are you--" he begins, and suddenly Esca is sitting up on the table jerkily. He's putting his good hand to the back of Marcus's head, pulling him close.

Their lips meet, become hot and slick with Esca's blood. Marcus gasps into his slave's mouth, screws his eyes shut.

When Esca frees him, he falls heavily back on the table, breathing harshly. He stares at Marcus, licks his own lips clean.

The flick of Esca's tongue is enough to provoke him. He darts in, has his slave's mouth again.

When he pulls away, he's heated. He wipes the blood off his face.

Esca's breathing sounds relieved, his body is lax on the table.

Marcus glares at him, then stands. Leaves the room.

He peels off the breeches he always wears when he rides with Esca, puts a hand to himself where he's suffering now, stiff like a branch. He grits his teeth as he rubs himself frantically. The sound is slick, obvious. When he comes, it's sends a hot crackle through him, touching at his sack. His shoot is powerful, ample. He breathes out a gust with _Esca_ shaping his mouth.

Then he stares at the streaks on his own tan wrist. He tries to shake it off, but it just slides thickly down his thumb, clings at the nail.

 

 

There is a small, fading red scab on Esca's lip that Marcus finds himself staring at, neglecting his lunch.

"Take Esca hunting. On foot. There are game birds in flocks in the woods this month. I'll have Stephanos prepare a feast," Uncle drones while Esca's eyes flicker, catch his. Marcus is hunched at his plate, frowning. Staring at his slave.

"Go on, then. You're both like two wild dogs when you're in the house too long."

Esca doesn't drop his gaze. Stubborn, defiant slave.

Uncle wipes his mouth. "I'm going to town. Stay out of trouble."

"Mm," Marcus says impatient, for he's very itchy to have Esca to himself.

When uncle leaves, Marcus focuses on his food. "Go. Take care of your other chores so I can eat in peace," Marcus says, frustrated. He picks at his bread, listens to Esca leave.

When he is done an hour later, he grabs the whip off the wall.

 

 

Esca's in his room, looking through Marcus's clothes for washing. He glances up when Marcus walks in, freezes.

Marcus lets the whip fall open, drag on the floor. 

"Take off your shirt," he whispers.

Esca stares at the whip. And then he drags his shirt off, drops it on the floor. His shoulder is lightly colored with old bruises from the fall off the horse. His nipples are brown, pricked.

Marcus gestures with the whip. "Now put your hands to the wall."

And Esca does, braced palms to the clay. His head is turned away from Marcus.

Marcus shakes the whip once, then quickly cracks it against his slave's back. 

It leaves a red mark, but doesn't draw blood. It's just the first time, and he's almost dizzy with power. He chews his lip, watches Esca begin to tremble.

"--your shoulder?" he asks once.

"Healing," Esca breathes out, voice wrecked. "It is...master it is--"

Marcus's face twists up in arousal and he lashes the boy again. And again. And again.

When he stops, he's unbearably aroused, out of breath, tenting his breeches. Esca slips to his knees. 

Marcus steps forward, puts a hand to the wall above Esca, catches his breath.

"Are you hurt?" Marcus asks.

Esca is silent.

When Marcus regains his composure, he sees that Esca's arm moves crazily, bent at the elbow and shaking. Marcus swallows, moves aside to go down on his knees with him.

Esca's face is to to the wall. And he's got a hand rough in his pants. He's, _oh_.

Marcus's cock stiffens that much tighter. 

"You like the pain," Marcus whispers like it's a secret, and Esca startles, an unchecked sound. 

"You like the pleasure too," Marcus adds, sliding his palm down the smooth curve of Esca's back, down under his breeches. He holds his slave's small, warm, bare ass in hand.

" _Centurion_ ," Esca moans, arching. His hips roll.

Marcus sets his jaw, forces his other hand down the front of his slaves breeches, grasps his small wrist and twists it out of his way. 

Then he has a cock in one hand, and an ass hot in the other. He groans, squeezes both firmly, roughly.

"I will tend to your needs, Esca. Because I'm your master. _Your master_ ," he growls out.

Esca's cock discharges in his hand. It's a spate of flexes, a wash of hot fluid. Marcus puts his shameful face in Esca's temple. Groans "Ahhh, by _Mithras_."

He removes his hand from his slave's ass, rubs up his whipped back. He keeps his hand loose around Esca's softening cock. There is too much of a mess inside to remove his hand yet.

He's shaking when Esca finally sighs, puts his hand over Marcus's. Helps him ease it free. 

Marcus turns his face, looks down at his slaves spurt all over his hand.

"Did I wound you?" Marcus asks. 

Esca is looking at him, inscrutable. He shakes his head, mouths _no_.

And then he drifts into Marcus. His hands swiftly open Marcus's pants. Marcus's breath hiccups, his hands lift but don't know where to go. 

They find Esca's shoulders, wring there tightly when Esca ducks low, takes him into his mouth.


End file.
